Read about the misadventures of a sped high school teacher in Savannah, GA as he sails through the exciting seas of committment, marriage with step-kids, some tour guiding while he attempts to break into the world of professional storytelling and the occasional act of piracy.

Sunday, August 17, 2014

Letting it Go.

It’s been a rough patch
of late and I’ve been having a hard time trying to find my smile and I am
finally going to explain why. I haven’t been holding back because I wanted to
be dramatic. It’s just been a bit difficult to wrap my brain around how life
has been going lately and I wanted to figure out how I felt before I said
anything because I know questions are going to follow.

Thursday a week ago, my mom called me after dinner. I
assumed it was to check in and see how things are. She was a former teacher so
I unloaded all the drama that comes with going back to school. My mother
listened but I quickly realized this was not the reason she called.

My mother said, “We need to discuss some things that are
going on. I can’t maintain where I live any longer so I am selling the property
and I’ve going to move to Metter and buy a house there.” Mom went on to explain
that this is where her life is and she really feels this is where she needs to
be. The conversation took a severe nosedive and ended with my mother hanging up
on me because I lost my temper and was screaming at her.

The property in question is four acres with a marsh view,
a deck, and a dock. My grandfather purchased the land for $800 during the
Depression and had a small farm out there for some time. By the time I was
around, Grandma and Pop had retired and made this tiny 5 room house into a home
that to me still rivals any mansion or castle.

Grandma had a small green house on the front
porch where she’d tend to her hundreds of plants. Many had overgrown their pots
and were spilling over and a few had even grown to touch the porch ceiling.
Every spring their yard would explode in a series of reds, pinks, whites, and
yellows from all the azaleas and other flowers Grandma babied.

Easter 1979

My
Pop would always be tinkering outside the pump house. If he wasn’t fishing or
crabbing, Pop would be in the garden. Often with me in tow because I would be
in charge of mowing or weeding. Looking back, I hated every minute of it but I
also now seem to have that same Richardson Green Thumb because all that time
turned out to be a gardening class with Pop as the headmaster.

After
they were gone, my dad and mom would spend all their free time fixing up the place.
I’d get a phone call once a weekend because while dad was tinkering on the dock
and mom would be laying out getting some sun, they’d see a dolphin or maybe
some otters playing on the floating dock. It was always a story and I’d love to
hear my father spin them even if it was over a phone cord. Not every bit of my
storytelling skill come s from my grandfather, the Big Guy gets some credit
too.

After
Dad was gone, my friends stepped in to help which was a blessing because all
the technical skills jumped a generation from Pop and Dad and all went to Mary,
my sister. I stuck to mowing, weeding, and any chainsaw related work. But
eventually I got sick, Mary moved away, and life went on as all of us began to
start our own lives.

Ten
years ago Mom moved in and has pretty much been keeping the place up,
remodeling, and trying to make it a home again. She splits her time between the
family property and Metter with her boyfriend.

It
just got to be too much for her and I want to be very clear here. I understand
that. Mom is getting older and living on a very fixed income. That property
takes a lot of work and even more money. I get that. I’m not mad at my mom for
having to sell our family place. I’m upset at how she went about making the
decision but that is something else for me to work out and understand as I go
on.

So
that’s where I am at right now. I’ve spent the past week talking with Mary and
a few others so I can wrap my head around this. This is what I’ve figured out
and pretty much the actual process.

It
suxs.

It
suxs much animal genitalia.

It
suxs but I am also and adult and so therefore I am just going to have to pull
up the ol’ big boy pants and trudge along.

For
a few days, I lost much sleep worrying about how Mary and I would come up with
the $300,000 to save the property. I scoured the internet reading over rent by
owners and even looked at how bed and breakfasts work. Deep down I understood I
was clutching at straws even though I refused to acknowledge it.

The
few friends I discussed this matter with showed enormous amounts of great
support. Gideon helped me look at the business side of it and I actually began
to think that maybe, just maybe, I could pull this whole thing off.

Gideon hanging Xmas lights before the Oyster Roast

It
wasn’t until my old frat buddy, Jeff Ragsdale talked to me that even clicked
and I finally got myself into a place where I could think realistically. For
very wacky story I can share about Rags and his past like the time, I can also
share how he’s grown into quite the responsible adult and very shrewd
businessman.

It
was Rags who pointed out the very obvious. “How can you afford to live in that
place? All your money will go into maintaining the place and Kim and the kids
will end up being miserable because it’s so small.”

Rags & his wife, Maria

I
shook my head in a not so willing agreement as I knew my friend was right. I don’t even hit fifty grand a year and I’m
the big bread winner of the family. How could I keep the house and land up
without investing not only all my time but also any income that trickles in?
This is not even taking into account any of my medical bills; living car
payment, regular living expenses and the fact that I have a teen age daughter
who seems to believe that anything by Hollister clothes are “an investment.”

Then
Rags said it, “Robby, if your dad was still alive, he wouldn’t want you to do
this. You are going to put your family at risk and that’s not worth it.”

Ding
went a bell. Rags had just said the
words I needed to hear that finally rang inside of my head and I knew where I
had to go with this. I have to let this piece of property that has been in
Richardson hands for over seventy-seven years go.

And
I felt ok.

Actually
even though I cried a little bit, I felt relief.

The
property has been in my way for years and to be a bit poetic, hanging around my
neck like an albatross. Yes, I’ve had a dream for years of living there with
Kim, Roni, and Jude. I even pictured Roni and Jude learning how to throw a cast
net and catching shrimp like we used to do when I was a kid. I pictured Kim and
me sitting on the deck, watching the sunset with drinks in hand. She’d snuggle
up to me and maybe nuzzle my ear and say something like, “I love our life
here.” I pictured Christmases where Aunt Mary and Christine come to visit and
we’d open presents in the living room like Mary and I did when we were younger.

1994 Our last Xmas with Grandma

Those things already exist just in a different form. Roni
and Jude love it when Kim and I pack up the van and hit Tybee for the day
lounging on the beach. I get to stare at the surf while the kids attack the
beach with their boogie boards. We eat cold fried chicken and everyone always
laughs at me as I try to fly my kites very badly.

ROni and Kim's first time at the Dock

We
don’t have a deck but Kim and I spend many of evenings sitting on the front
porch staring out at our cul de sac. Kim has her glass of wine and I drink my
bourbon over ice as we peer through the porch ledge which is laden with all our
plants and herbs because I have my grandparents’ green thumb.

Every
Christmas morning, we open our presents in our own home in Coffee Bluff in the
living room. Even though Aunt Mary and Christine live in Hartford, CT, they
join us through the magic of my Xbox’s video Kinect.

Xmas 1985

Someday
when the wind is blowing the right way, I smell the march around me and I can hear
the boats as they come up the channel. It’s not the same thing as way I grew up
over at the family property but it is good enough for now because it’s my life
and with my family.

After
Rags and I hung up, Kim came in to check on me. She and the kids have been
really supportive during this past week. As she asked if I was ok, I smiled and
nodded. Everything fell into place for me.

As
I started to write this blog, I kept thinking of the scene towards the end of Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade where
Indy has the Grail in reach while his father is holding them over the ledge.
Indy can almost touch the Grail and it’s so close when he hears his father say
calmly, “Indiana, let it go.”

You
know the rest, Indiana Jones realizes his dad is right and is pulled to safety
by Sean Connery. Indy never needs the Grail because in their search, he
reconnected with his dad and Indy had his family again.

I
have my Holy Grail too but it’s not a gold cup but rather a beautiful wife who
can set the word afire when she sits behind her keyboard to write her stories,
a daughter who’s beauty and smarts only rivals that of her mom’s, and a son who
is as talented with his music as he is quick witted and clever. My love for
them and the love they give back are worth more to me than any piece of land.

I
know that good days and bad days are ahead of me as I deal with all of this.
Been there, done that before. It is going to suck a little but I can’t help but
feeling like the rest of my life is now ready to unfold. This is just something
I have to go through to get to the next step and I am more than a little bit
excited about that. I’ve got my family and that’s all I really need when it
comes down to it.

“Let
it go and not in the Frozen sort of
way”

Thanks
for reminding me of that, Indy.

As I went through my pics to find some to use in the blog, there were just too many to fit in the actual story but I still wanted to use them because there was just so many stories that happened there.

Hagan & Stu after removing the unplugged freezer

Mary & me 1987 with Grandma's dog, Dutch

Dad and oysters

Hagan, Stu, Gid, and Robyn at at Low Country Boil

My dog, Belle, loved when everyone was over because there was always somewhere to get comfy

Fire Marshall Rags

This is what happens when liquor stores throw out their Xmas displays...

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About Me

Enjoy the misadventures of a reformed tour guide/sped teacher who resides in Savannah, GA as he navigates the crazy world of marriage, relationships, kids, storytelling, and the occasional act of piracy.